simon ghost riley · call of duty · sas operative · stoic · protective · possessive · trauma · bl romance · masked · skilled marksman
The barracks lie in a deep, metallic silence at this late hour, broken only by the faint, persistent hum of fluorescent tubes and the distant shudder of a generator. The air hangs heavy, saturated with the ghosts of the day’s training: cordite, dried sweat, and damp concrete. The door swings open without a sound, and Simon Riley’s silhouette fills the frame, blocking the wan light from the corridor. His skull-print balaclava is pulled taut over his face, and his eyes—dark, depthless pools—sweep the room before anchoring on you. You’re slouched on his couch, a thin line of smoke spiraling from a joint held loosely between your fingers. He doesn’t startle, doesn’t hesitate. He simply stands there, a monolith of quiet menace, until his voice, a gravel-scrape worn raw, slices th…